


Leading with my heart

by acidpop25



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidpop25/pseuds/acidpop25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur may be asexual, but he and Eames are in love all the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leading with my heart

**Author's Note:**

> Fill of a prompt at inception_kink. Background information can be found at [AVEN](http://www.asexuality.org/home/).

Arthur's shoulders tense up when he feels Eames' hands settle on them, and his lips press into a thin line.

"Eames."

"Arthur," he purrs, "it's late, you should be in bed. Preferably mine."

Arthur shakes Eames' hands off and doesn't look up at him. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Eames."

Unseen, Eames frowns at him before coming around to perch on the corner of Arthur's desk. "Arthur." His voice is more serious now, and this time Arthur does look up at him.

"What?"

Eames sighs, and one hand reaches into his pocket to rub his poker chip, not out of uncertain reality but for the sake of having something to do with his hands. "We've been dancing around this for years, Arthur. You wouldn't still put up with me if you didn't like me."

"I never said I didn't like you," Arthur replies calmly. "Quite the contrary."

Whatever Eames had been expecting, it wasn't that. "You... hang on, really? Not even going to try to deny it?"

Arthur has the gall to look mildly amused, maybe even a little fond. "No."

"But... not like that."

"I don't want to have sex with you, no," Arthur replies, and steeples his fingers. He is giving Eames the benefit of his absolute, complete attention, which is unsettling and hot all at once. "If it's any consolation, however, I've never wanted to have sex with anyone else, either."

There's a silence. "I don't understand you," Eames finally says– and for a forger, it's a supreme admission of failure. Arthur doesn't call him on it though; he merely drops his gaze back to his work and picks up his pen.

"I know," he says simply, and that is that. Eames lingers a minute longer, watching him, before giving up and disappearing into the night.

* * *

"Eames." Arthur is hovering a few feet from Eames' desk, a file folder clutched in one hand. Eames sighs and motions him over, expecting more work, some new complication. He is _not_ expecting Arthur to lay the folder on his desk and then squeeze Eames' hand.

"I want you to understand," he murmurs, and then he lets go and is gone. Eames is left staring at the folder in front of him, and after a moment he flips it open. The top page is an article entitled "Asexuality" in bold font, and Arthur's precise, looping handwriting is squeezed into the margins here and there. Eames smiles in spite of himself because it's just so very _Arthur_ to explain himself this way, with research and notes and underlines. Ever the organized point man.

When Eames walks into the warehouse the next day, he has read the entire sheaf of papers twice over and been up most of the night thinking it all through. Arthur is talking to Cobb in a low voice, but he looks up when Eames passes, and for a moment there is a flash of raw fear in his eyes that Eames has never seen before. He's seen Arthur nearly die, but he's never seen him scared. It's masked as soon as Eames identifies it, but he knows it was there. The day is a busy one, though– he spends much of it giving Ariadne feedback on her latest design– and there is no chance to corner Arthur alone until well after dinner.

"We've got to stop meeting this way," Eames says, pulling up a chair next to him. Arthur slants a glance in his direction.

"You'd prefer it with the rest of the team hanging around?"

"I'd prefer it not in the bloody warehouse." Eames pauses for a moment, watching. He is keenly aware of just how much Arthur has laid on the line for him. "I read the articles you gave me."

Arthur nods. "And?" He can't quite keep the anxiety out of his voice; Eames wonders if he's ever told anyone about this before.

"And I want to know if it's just sex you won't have, or relationships."

"Oh." It doesn't look like that was the question he expected. "I... um. In theory I'd like a romantic relationship. I've never really had one, though." He looks down at his hands as he says it, and the uncertainty in the usually confident man is at once endearing and heart-wrenching. Eames swallows hard and makes up his mind.

"Well, in that case," he says, "can I take you out for dinner sometime?"

The startled smile that lights Arthur's face is more than enough to make Eames sure he made the right decision.

* * *

Eames takes Arthur to an out of the way Italian restaurant a few nights later, and does not allow Cobb to hold them back for work. "Be back later!" he calls, and hurries Arthur out the door before he has a fit of conscientiousness. Eames gets the door for him when they walk in, because this is a _date_ , and Arthur's expression catches somewhere between exasperation and affection.

Eames learns a lot about Arthur over pasta and good wine. He learns that Arthur is an only child, that he grew up in Vermont of all places, that his history is relentlessly middle-class and uncomplicated until the Cobbs entered his life in his last year of university, recruiting him for their research. Arthur's voice trips a little over Mal's name and he changes the subject quickly, and Eames wonders if Arthur ever let himself grieve the friend he had lost. He learns that Arthur's favorite season is autumn, that he spends most of his off hours reading, and that he had wanted to be a musician before his parents convinced him to study something useful.

They order dessert.

Eames makes Arthur laugh around a mouthful of tiramisu as he repeats half-remembered stories from his childhood, running wild through the neighborhood with his little sister Theresa. He is still in touch with her, though sporadically– she's a writer, he says, and there's a note of pride in his voice that makes Arthur smile quietly.

"Well," Eames says, after the bill is paid, "I guess we should get back before Cobb comes looking for us."

"Probably," Arthur agrees, a little reluctantly, and they head for the car.

He slips his hand into Eames' and doesn't let go until they reach the warehouse door.

* * *

Arthur does kiss; Eames knows this. He's seen the soft brush of lips with Ariadne in the dream, but when Arthur kisses Eames– and it has to be Arthur who does it first– it is slower and sensual, and his hands cradle Eames's face. There's no lust there, but the tenderness of the gesture is startling and unfamiliar. Eames had never known anyone who could put so much into a single kiss; it makes him feel breathless and a little nervous over how fast he's falling for Arthur. Over how fast Arthur is falling for _him_.

Arthur's hand finds his as the team is waking from a job. It was an easy one, local and legitimate now that Cobb has his children back. Ariadne's glance falls on their joined hands, and she smiles. They disperse, scattering as they do after every job, but Arthur whispers, "Come with me," and Eames doesn't need more encouragement.

The small apartment Arthur is living in looks pretty much as one would expect, neat and tastefully decorated. Eames has only been here a few times, but he likes it, likes being surrounded by the _Arthurness_ of the place. Arthur himself has peeled off his jacket and waistcoat to settle on to the couch with Eames, curling up against his chest contentedly. Eames flips on the television, idly carding his fingers through Arthur's gelled hair until it softens as he watches one of the infinite crime dramas while Arthur reads. It's easy and comfortable, and neither moves until very late in the evening.

"Do you want to stay over?" Arthur asks, and Eames raises his eyebrows.

"You want me to?"

Arthur's lips twitch. "There's sleeping with me, and there's having sex. As long as we're clear that it's the former, I don't see why not."

"We're clear," Eames agrees, and kisses the top of his head.

He falls asleep spooned up against Arthur, an arm around his waist and smiling against his neck.

* * *

Eames wakes to the heat of Arthur's body, and he squeezes his eyes shut again for a long moment. Arthur is still asleep, which is a blessing, since Eames has woken up desperately, achingly hard. Arthur's tight little ass is pressed right up against Eames, and he smells of sandalwood over the faint, warm musk of his skin. It's incredibly alluring, unbearably so, but the movement when he tries to pull back wakes Arthur.

"Where are you going?" he murmurs, voice sleep-rough and muffled by the pillow.

"Just leaving you to rest."

"Mm." Arthur turns over to face Eames, watching him from under his eyelashes. "Because you're afraid to wake me, or because you're turned on?"

Eames looks away. "Darling, I'm sorry, I–"

"Shh," Arthur interrupts, "it's not like I'm angry with you. It happens." He stifles a yawn and pushes himself upright. "We should probably talk about this. Breakfast?"

Eames nods, and Arthur leans over and kisses his cheek before climbing out of bed and padding into the living room. Eames swallows hard as he watches him go, gaze fixed on Arthur's ass in spite of himself. Fuck.

Eames locks himself in the bathroom to jerk off in quick, rough strokes, eyes squeezed shut and biting his bottom lip as he comes. Once he's cleaned up, he joins Arthur in the kitchen; Arthur is already working his way through a bowl of cereal, and Eames pours one for himself and sits down across from him. His head is less fogged with arousal, but his nerves are frayed with worry, though Eames has long since learned to hide worry behind his usual confident calm.

Arthur pushes his empty bowl aside and watches Eames for a moment before he speaks. "I love you," he says, simply, calmly, "and I want to be with you, so we'll work this out."

"What is there to say, Arthur? I'm not going to make you do something you don't want."

"I know that. But we could... well." Arthur flushes a deep pink. "There are things other than sex."

A smirk tugs at Eames' lips in spite of himself. "Is this your uncomfortable way of offering me a handjob, Arthur?"

He goes even redder. "We could at least try it."

Eames' cock twitches in his boxers. "You sure?"

"Relationships are about compromise," Arthur says reasonably. "Look, Eames, I'm not scared of your body, it's not like that. So, bedroom?"

"Please," Eames says, voice low, and wraps an arm around Arthur's waist as they retreat to the bedroom. Eames lies down on the bed and lets Arthur do as he will– which apparently means climbing on top of him for a kiss. Eames sighs against Arthur's lips and lets his hips arch up slightly, cock hardening in interest. His fingers tangle in Arthur's hair, and Arthur makes a soft sound of contentment against his lips.

"Can I...?"

"You can do whatever you want," Eames breathes, and Arthur's long, clever fingers hook under his waistband and pull.

"Wow," he murmurs, and Eames chuckles. Arthur glances over at him, his smile both shy and conspiratorial. "I'm kind of a waste of this, aren't I?"

"You couldn't possibly be a waste, darli– _oh_." Arthur's hand curled around his cock makes Eames break off with a stutter of breath. Arthur's stroke is a little too rough on the first drag, so Eames wraps his hand around Arthur's and guides his motions until he falls into the rhythm. Eames moans and thrusts up into the strokes– he may have gotten himself off before breakfast, but having Arthur touching him is an entirely different kind of turn-on, and it's not long before he feels himself getting close to the edge. His free hand fists in Arthur's sheets, sweat beading on his brow.

"Arthur," he says breathlessly, and that's all the warning he manages before his orgasm hits him, wracking his whole body with pleasure.

When he opens his eyes, Arthur is wrinkling his nose slightly, and Eames draws a slow breath and smiles. "Mind getting me something to clean up with, love?"

"Sure." Arthur gathers up a wad of tissues from a nearby box and hands them to Eames, who wipes up the come from his stomach and then pads to the bathroom to get rid of the tissues. Arthur is sitting on the bed when Eames returns, watching him with curious dark eyes.

"Good?"

"Better than good," Eames assures him, climbing back in bed and pulling Arthur into his arms. "I wish there was something I could do for you."

Arthur nuzzles into Eames' neck. "Actually..."

"Yes?"

"How are you at back rubs?"

Eames grins. "Amazing," he answers, "lie down and lose the shirt."

Arthur obliges, and Eames takes a moment to admire his lean, whipcord strong build before leaning over and pressing strong hands into the tightly knotted muscles. Arthur makes noises that sound almost like purrs of pleasure low in his throat as Eames works the kinks out of tense shoulders, and the look of pure bliss on his face makes it impossible for Eames to restrain a smile.

"I love you," he murmurs in Arthur's ear, and his partner opens his eyes and smiles back.

"Love you too."


End file.
